


Of Courage and Strength

by nanuk_dain



Series: Of Soldiers and Secrets [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The convent at Rachamps was a place full of epiphanies. Or: How Speirs was overwhelmed by his First Sergeant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Courage and Strength

**Author's Note:**

> First part in the "Of Soldiers and Secrets" series.

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)   


Lipton knew with absolute certainty that Easy finally had a good leader again when he watched Lieutenant Speirs run through the German lines as if it was nothing, back to where he and Luz had taken cover behind the corner of a house. He found himself unable to look away, unable to fight the grin that spread over his face or the excitement that coursed through his entire body.

He'd had an inkling before, when the new CO had relieved Dike and listened to Lipton's description of the current situation, when the orders he'd given had come swiftly and had taken everything into account. Now that Lieutenant Speirs was crouched on the ground next to him, weapon ready even after his sprint across the town, Lipton knew the inkling had been proven right.

He hadn't felt that good in months.

***

Luz watched the hand on Lip's shoulder and tried to hide his smirk.

Lieutenant Speirs' hand, to be exact. On Lip's shoulder. Other times, it had been on his upper arm. Or his elbow. Or his back. Once, about four days ago in Foy, right before Speirs had made this mad dash over to the other platoon, Luz had even seen it on Lip's thigh. For the cold-hearted bastard he was rumoured to be, the Lieutenant was quite physical with his First Sergeant.

Who was completely oblivious. Sometimes Luz just couldn't help wondering how Lip had managed to stay this innocent, almost naïve, in this cruel war. But somehow he just _was_ oblivious, at least in certain matters, and that was the most fascinating part of the whole thing with Speirs. Because Luz wondered _when_ Lip would finally catch on that the lieutenant was treating him differently. And how he'd react to it. Lip wasn't the kind of person who liked to be favoured, even if it was only in the way Speirs seemed to accept him where he ignored almost everybody else. But the men liked to keep having Lip as a kind of buffer between Speirs and them.

A buffer that worked fantastically, by the way.

Speir said something else to Lip while he pulled out his pack of Lucky Strikes and put one between his lips. Then he held the pack out to Lip as an offer, and Luz watched fascinated how Lip accepted a cigarette without the slightest hesitation. Speirs put the pack back into his breast pocket and pulled out a lighter, lighting his own cigarette. He didn't hand over the lighter then, though, instead he reached out his hand, flame still burning. Lip took hold of his wrist, encasing the flame with his other hand to protect it against the wind, and bent down to light his own Lucky Strike.

Had it been any other men, Luz wouldn't have looked twice. But with Speirs and all the rumours flying around, him handing out cigarettes had almost become equal to a death omen in the company. Luz couldn't remember anybody ever accepting when the lieutenant had offered. Not that he did it often. This gesture only seemed to extend to Lip and Nixon.

Once the smokes were lit, Speirs and Lip were back in conversation, and after a moment, Speirs turned to leave. His hand returned to Lip's shoulder for a short squeeze that seemed to be a goodbye and it left Lip's shoulder as quickly as it had come up, and Luz was sure Lip hadn't even been consciously aware that it had been there. Maybe it was time to change that, he thought and watched how the First Sergeant walked over to where Luz was sitting on the back of the truck. Most of the men were inside the houses of the town they were staying in for the night on their way to Rachamps, but Luz had wanted a moment alone and had settled on the truck outside of the house he was stationed in.

“Yo, Lip! You accepted his cigarette and you're still alive.” Luz greeted him with a grin. “Maybe miracles _do_ happen, after all.”

Lip leaned against the truck bed and gazed up at Luz who was sitting next to him with his feet dangling over the edge. “It wasn't a miracle, Luz. Just a smoke.”

“Others who accepted it died.” Luz couldn't help remarking and raised an eyebrow in question. “You know it means that he likes you, right?”

“Him offering me a cigarette doesn't mean anything.” Lip said and held the halfway smoked cigarette up to Luz, who looked at it suspiciously for a moment before accepting it. Hell, a smoke was a smoke. And it wasn't as if it was Speirs offering it, even if it was one of his cigarettes. “You really shouldn't believe every rumour you hear, George.”

“I'm not only talking about the smoke, Lip.” Luz replied between two drags.

“Then what are you talking about?” Lip's posture was relaxed and he accepted the cigarette back when Luz held it out to him.

“I mean he _likes_ you.” Luz clarified and put an emphasis on the word. He had to get this across, really. It was becoming ridiculous. “I mean that you could probably tell him right out when you think he's wrong and he'd actually think about it instead of shooting you right away – like he would do with everybody else.”

Lip turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “You're exaggerating quite a bit, here. He wouldn't shoot anybody for that.”

“He wouldn't shoot _you_ , that's for sure.” Luz smirked and accepted the offered cigarette. “Why do you think we like to use you to talk to him instead of doing it ourselves?”

Lip huffed out a little laugh. “Cowards.”

“Well, you have to admit that he actually listens to you. Asks for your advice. That is something other people can only dream of.” Luz stated and added, almost as an afterthought, “Except for Winters, maybe. And Nixon.”

“He's not as bad as the rumours claim, Luz.” Lip took the Lucky Strike back and inhaled the smoke. “Give him a chance.”

“Oh, he's a great CO, no doubt about that.” Luz agreed without hesitation. He'd rather follow Speirs than Sobel or Foxhole Norman, that was certain. At least Speirs knew what he was doing, and he didn't hide in the back while the men did the work. Nobody doubted his leader qualities. It was more the personal character traits they were intrigued by. Like handing out cigarettes before killing twenty German POWs. Or shooting one of his men for being drunk and refusing to follow orders.

“Then why are you so wary of him?” Lip inquired and handed the Lucky Strike back. It was almost gone.

Luz just shrugged, he didn't really have an answer for that. It was just a gut feeling. “I wonder how you manage never to be wary of him.”

“That's because I don't pay attention to rumours, Luz.” Lip said pointedly and gave Luz a gaze that was almost chiding. “I prefer to form my own opinions.”

Luz snorted and handed back the stump of the cigarette. “Easy for you to say, since he seems to like you.”

“What is it with you and this conviction that he likes me?” Lip asked and looked at him with a frown on his face. “He treats me no different from the rest of the men.”

“Yes, he does.” Luz answered back and decided to put his final argument to use. “He touches you. Constantly, I may remark. He doesn't do that with anybody else. At least not unless he intends to kill them.”

“Now you really are exaggerating, Luz. He is not touching me constantly.” Lip countered with a shake of his head, his voice sounding almost as exasperated as is sounded amused, and he flipped the burnt down cigarette into the muddy street. “I really don't know where you get all those ideas, George.”

“You think it's only my imagination?” Luz just shrugged, knowing fully well that he was right. “Just pay attention, then. You'll see it for yourself.”

***

And he paid attention. It wasn't that he'd wanted to, but once Luz had said those words, Lipton hadn't been able _not_ to pay attention. Maybe it had been curiosity. Maybe it had just been the wish to find that Luz had indeed been exaggerating.

Which he hadn't been. It took Lipton only a day to see every point proven right. From the Speirs-actually-listening-to-him to the Speirs-constantly-touching-him. It was almost unnerving, because once he'd started to have a closer look at the lieutenant and his behaviour, Lipton noticed what Luz had told him all along. Speirs _was_ treating him differently. And the men _did_ indeed use Lipton to get things transmitted to the lieutenant that they suspected he wouldn't take too well.

When they prepared the attack on Rachamps, Winters, Nixon and Speirs stood bent over the maps, and Lipton had joined them on Speirs' orders. He was included in the preparation, and he couldn't help noticing that Speirs asked for his advise on the best position for the men. And again Luz was proven right.

Right before the attack, when the men were in position and Speirs came to crouch down next to him on the frozen ground, Lipton felt the hand on his shoulder, felt the quick squeeze.

“Let's hit them, Sergeant.” he heard Speirs' calm voice say, right before the lieutenant shouted the order to move out. In the ensuing chaos of battle, it was easy to attribute the flutter in his stomach to the adrenaline coursing through his system.

What finally drove the point home was the honest, warm smile on Speirs' face, a smile that actually reached his eyes, when he told Lipton of his battlefield commission in the convent in Rachamps. It hit him totally off guard. He hadn't expected it to transform Speirs' face this much, hadn't expected how it made his eyes glow, how it made him look almost youthful.

Beautiful.

Hadn't expected his own reaction to it. The churning in his stomach, the sudden desire to see that smile again. He felt as if he was paralysed, he couldn't react appropriately, torn between the joy about the news of his promotion and the sudden realisation that he found his superior officer beautiful. That the tingling in his fingertips was caused by the desire to find out what the lock that had fallen in Speirs' face would feel like under his fingers if he stroked it back.

And he had never expected to see his desires reflected back at him in the dark green eyes of his lieutenant. It was quickly masked, though, had only been visible for a brief moment, but it had been enough. Speirs made his excuses and left, and Lipton still stood rooted in place, right in front of the pew he'd been sitting on before, staring after him. There had been this tiny backward glance before Speirs had turned, this moment where their eyes had met, and it was this moment that convinced Lipton that he hadn't actually been imagining things.

Speirs was not the kind of man to glance back. Yet he had.

Later that evening, when Lipton walked back to the cell he'd been assigned for the night, the cell he knew he was supposed to share with the lieutenant, he caught his thoughts running wild. He couldn't exactly say what had happened in the church, but he knew something had shifted. Knew he'd seen a part of Speirs that not many people had ever seen, knew that Speirs would never act on it. He didn't know what to do, how he should behave when he saw the lieutenant again.

The decision was taken out of his hand when he entered the cell to see Speirs leaning against the wall, back turned to Lipton, one hand resting against rough plaster, head hanging, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. At the sound of his footsteps, Speirs' head shot up and his posture straightened immediately, but Lipton had seen it in the lieutenant's face before he could school his features.

The weariness. The pain. The desperation. The exhaustion. The same things they all felt, the things that shone through in the other men sometimes. The things Speirs never showed.

He didn't hesitate one moment, didn't think about what he was doing, he just followed his instincts same as he did in combat. He took the last few steps until he was right up in Speirs' personal space, then his hands came to rest on Speirs' sides, slowly, before pulling him in a firm embrace. It was when he felt the body in his arms relaxing, leaning into him, that he realised that he'd indeed never once been afraid of Lieutenant Ronald Speirs.

Not even now.

***

He'd been lost from the moment he'd first looked in those dark brown eyes, right there behind the haystack in Foy, with the bullets shooting past them and the shouts of the men on both sides of the line. When he first touched the man, when his hand had found the firm shoulder hidden under layers of clothes, he'd known. He'd always been a man who kept his distance, physically and emotionally, yet with Carwood Lipton, he hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself. It had been like a compulsion, out of his control, and it hadn't been the time to think about it, anyway. When he'd listened to the coherent, concise report on the status, when he'd seen the First Sergeant in combat and later when Lipton had run across the town to attract the sharpshooter's fire in order to give his men an opening to shoot the sniper, Speirs had known his subconsciousness had chosen wisely. Not that he'd ever had any influence on it.

The next days had been just like all those before, only that now, he was the commander of Easy. It was still the same war as it had been the day before. Things were the same.

Except that they weren't. There was First Sergeant Lipton who he could tell after only a few hours was the true heart of Easy, the reason they'd come as far as they had. Speirs listened to rumours, went over reports, talked to Winters and Nixon. He observed, he paid attention, he kept his distance. He formed his opinion on the man who he knew could hurt him more than any bullet ever could.

When they hit Noville, he already trusted Lipton completely in his position as the leader of a platoon of his own. If he was honest with himself, he had already trusted him in Foy. Now was just the moment where it actually was his decision, and he didn't hesitate a moment to assign Lipton the platoon that would take the lead. The operation went smoothly, and that night, when he first offered the man a cigarette – mostly to test his reaction – he was secretly satisfied that Lipton didn't hesitate. After that, he made it a habit to offer him a smoke.

It was in the convent in Rachamps, where heavenly music along with the peacefulness of the place and the prospect of getting off the line made the men almost forget about the war, that he let his guard down to far. He'd known he shouldn't have relaxed around Lipton that much, that the man had seen something in his eyes before Speirs had left for Battalion Headquarters, that he shouldn't have turned back for that last little glance. It had just happened, as if his body hadn't listened to his mind's command. And Lipton had noticed it.

Speirs was glad the cell he would share with his First Sergeant was empty when he got back. He didn't want to face the man now, not when he felt the weariness of the past weeks hit him suddenly with a vengeance and he needed time to regain his strength, time to put his mask back together. Without even knowing it, Lipton had begun to tear down the barriers Speirs had always kept firmly in place between him and the rest of the world. It had been easier when he'd been on his own, when the only thing he'd cared about had been winning the war.

He gritted his teeth, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, dragging the smoke into his lungs, waiting for the sense of relief that always came with it. It didn't come this time, he only tasted the burning smoke on his tongue. He felt incredibly vulnerable at that moment, when even his usual relief didn't work any more, and he braced his arm against the wall, leaning with the full weight of his body against it. His hand fell to his side and he allowed his head to hang, his eyes closed. Just one moment, then he would be back to his old self. He would stand up straight, would show no emotion, would tease the men by offering them cigarettes and would do his best to uphold his reputation. He'd always been good at that.

Suddenly, there were almost silent footsteps behind him, by the door, and he couldn't help standing up and falling back into his military trained straight posture. He found Lipton in the entrance to the cell, his eyes full of honest concern, a worried frown on his face. He'd seen everything, understood everything. He'd seen Speirs with his shields down, and Speirs knew it.

Before he could even think about how to react to this, he saw Lipton cross the distance between them, felt hands on his sides. Lipton's eyes never left his until they were too close to be able to see each other. It took Speirs a moment to realise that his First Sergeant had his arms wrapped around him and had pulled him close. For a moment, he felt himself go stiff with surprise, maybe even shock. He couldn't even remember when he'd last been embraced like this, with strength and concern, without any other intention than to hold, to comfort, to protect. He didn't think anybody had even dared to try ever since he'd left childhood. Ever since he'd started to fend for himself.

It was exactly what he'd needed, and he hadn't even known. A cell in a convent probably wasn't the most appropriate place for this, but it was war and Speirs had long since stopped caring for 'appropriate'. So after a moment, he let his eyes fall shut and allowed his forehead come to rest on Lipton's shoulder, his head turned so that his nose touched the skin of Lipton's throat. It was rough with stubble, and he slowly rubbed his nose across it, feeling the coarse little hairs passing over his skin, his lips. There was a smell of sweat, gunpowder and cigarette smoke lingering in the clothes under his face, and he took a deep breath. Under all these notes, there was another scent, something that he categorised as simply Lipton. It was perfect.

In everything he'd ever done in his life, Speirs had always been a man for all-or-nothing. So in this precise second, he decided to give everything he was to Carwood Lipton.

Even if he didn't intend to tell him.

**Author's Note:**

> The beautiful banner for the series was made by my dear Megan_Moonlight!


End file.
